here lies the secret that nobody knows
by lydiamartins
Summary: this island is a cage-—the odyssey.


notes: so i'm re-reading _the odyssey _for finals prep and i thought of something.

warnings: this is pretty vague, and i don't say names very often—the section about ogygia is referring to calypso, the last one is referring to odysseus, and the crew is odysseus's crew throughout _the odyssey.__  
_

* * *

how does one contrive the end of the world—

it is not something of a difficult concept, perhaps

there have been television shows and books and movies and cartoons and comics and everybody seems to have their own concept of how the world will in—in fire and smoke, in ice and ashes, all these glorious ways

or maybe it will be the sun burning out

the glorious sun, tired and alone

* * *

that is not how the world shall end

the world shall not end in a burst of flames, a dazzling show of lights

(and we will watch, and applaud, because we are mortals: and mortals dream

we are dreamers, and that will be our downfall or our blessing)

there is flames and smoke on the street every day

there are deaths, and we live in a town of murderers and rapists and that is normal

and that is something expected, and sometimes i wonder how it got that way

but that is not the point

we are looking towards the end

why are we looking towards the end?

do we not have lives to think about it, rather than the end of them

we spent so much time thinking about the end of everything, in general—

the end of a book, the end of a movie

(and we say that we do not want spoilers, and sometimes we do not, but most times we do, because that is human nature: to want to know what happens in the aftermath of everything)

but sometimes, we will not get to the end

and sometimes we do get to the end, and we close the book

inhale the smell of overheating computers and nail polish and drying blood,

and we are not satisfied, because this is not the glorious ending we were expecting

we we were expecting the world to go up in a burst of flames—

but that is not how endings are.

* * *

endings do not have to be glorious or heroic or tragic, not by any means

they are endings, a farewell: you call some weak, you call some strong

but in the end, does it really matter what happens?

for you have lived a life,

and perhaps it is not the life you had dreamed of living

for that is most always the case these days

but it is a life, nonetheless, and one you should be proud of living

and what a life it was.

* * *

they were a wonderful crew once upon a time, full of life and energy

but they are tired men now

eventually, the excitement of traveling across the lands grows out of favor

for the excitement of life is not with moving around and finding new places

for that seems to be running, running across the universe before the stars burn out

but the stars will burn out, and what then?

will you find new stars to watch in the depths of the night sky?

oh, for they shall burn out too

the excitement of life is something of finding a place to call home

settling down, perhaps a family, perhaps a life of solitude

but it is a place you can call home,

and what a wonderful thing that is.

* * *

and if you are in love, then you are the lucky ones

for most of us are bitter over someone

or something, or everything and anything in the world

for the men of the crew cast away their days with their wasteful words: of home and of longing

and as they manage to see the disturbances of the world for what they are,

for they are not stories anymore, they are memories:

they do not believe in the gods,

they do not believe in anything at all.

* * *

the world does not end with fire and smoke: instead,

it ends with the island of flowers, breaking oars with splinters in fingers

a girl inside, seeds of wisdom clenched tightly in her hands

(the island is her cage: there lies the secret nobody knows)

and as she presses forward against the barriers ogygia has formed,

but there is nowhere to go, and she is trapped, and the gods whisper darkness into her ears;

the rapids and currents pull her into oblivion

and she falls into the gaping holes of the universe

they swallow her up, and that is the end.

* * *

for most, the world does not end with the face of a god

omnipresent face watching down upon the earth, at the destruction of mankind

(for the gods are omnipotent, yes, but they are not omnipotent, if that makes any sense at all:

for sometimes, they must not do what they wish to do,

they must follow the rules, they most obey each other, they must respect each other

and that is the curse of the eternals

to live with the guilt of their mistakes

and that is how they learn from them, never the same until the next time they make the mistake)

but with the relentless drag of the whitewater rapids against a shipwrecked boat,

and with the heart of a broken man that is being pulled along the currents.

* * *

millenniums pass by and more and more fall into oblivion,

some by chance, some by choice

and there is a classroom of students looking upon the tales,

with boredom etched upon their faces as though it is second nature

i sit there, head bent low, ebony hair a curtain across my face

staring down at a book that i am not reading

not understanding, merely memorizing

and perhaps, this is not the way the story was meant to go.

* * *

for a star to be born, a nebula must collapse

(and perhaps, that would end with fire and smoke)

so collapse, break down, crumble underneath the pressure

underneath the bright lights, underneath the expectations

i do not know what being strong does

i read the tales of odysseus and telemachus, and do not understand them

for what motivation do they have for moving forward?

and finally, i understand.

they are not falling, this is not their destruction,

this is their birth.


End file.
